Beneath the Surface
by Magika
Summary: A seemingly routine suicide reveals a web of love, betrayal, murder and illicit imports...


**Title:** Beneath the Surface  
**Author:** Rachael Wakely [(whatever@graffiti.net)][1]& Hilde S. Nilsen [(Camelot_001@hotmail.com)][2]  
**Show:** Water Rats  
**Date completed:** September 3, 1999  
**Summary:** A seemingly routine suicide reveals a web of love, betrayal, murder and illicit imports...  
**Disclaimer:** They aren't ours, never were, never will be. Hal McElroy, Southern Star and the Nine Network want them all to themselves. Not fair, is it?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
Beneath the Surface  
by Rachael & Hilde  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"There! That's the last one for today." Detective Senior Constable Rachel Goldstein threw down her pen and stared contemptuously at the report she had just finished writing. The last of several, actually. Satisfied, she leant back in her chair and stretched her arms into the air. She loved her job, but not all the paperwork involved.  
  
"Taking an early day, are we?"   
  
Rachel glanced over at Detective Senior Constable Frank Holloway, who was sitting behind the other desk; he too was buried in paperwork. "Yeah," she answered. "I can't wait to get home and put my feet up. I'm beat."  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer for that, Rachel."  
  
Both Rachel and Frank looked up at Sergeant Helen Blakemore, who had just entered the Detectives' office. "Nooo, Helen…" Rachel felt the urge to whine and bit it back sharply. "*Please* don't tell me we've got another case." She sighed loudly, hoping that Helen would take pity on her and announce that whatever she was going to tell them could wait until tomorrow. Unfortunately, she wasn't that lucky.  
  
Helen looked down at her sympathetically. "Sorry," she replied. "There's a body been found at Hanson's Cliff. It was retrieved from the water about twenty minutes ago. You two will have to go down and check it out."  
  
Rachel decided that diplomacy definitely hadn't worked and that it was late enough in the day that she was entitled to complain. "Oh, why do these things always happen just when it's time to go home? Why not in the morning?" she moaned.  
  
"Probably because they know how much you hate investigating in the evenings," Frank answered wryly.  
  
Rachel rolled her eyes and sent him a dirty look. Knowing her relationship with the Powers That Be, her partner was probably right. She got up and motioned to him. "Right. Well, we might as well get on with it." She turned to Frank. "You coming?"  
  
"Only waiting for you," was Frank's answer. Helen watched them leave, suddenly feeling inexpressibly relieved that she was a sergeant and an intelligence officer rather than a detective. Personally, she was going right home to enjoy her Friday evening, work-free.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When the detectives arrived at the bottom of Hanson's Cliff, the place was already crowded with police officers and curious bystanders. The infamous yellow tape was already posted and Rachel slipped under it to speak to the coroner while Frank battled the crowd to speak to one of the officers. "What've we got?" Rachel asked Dr. Morgan, looking down at the mangled body.  
  
"A young girl, mid-twenties," he replied. "Injuries to the head and face, broken bones, very likely to be severe internal injuries in accordance with this type of death. I'd say that from the looks of things, she's either jumped over, or been thrown."  
  
"Do we have an ID?" Rachel asked, crouching down for a closer inspection.  
  
"No, no wallet or handbag. In fact, the only thing we found, was this." He showed her a small plastic bag. In it was a ballpoint with the name "Jackson Enterprises" engraved.  
  
"Jackson Enterprises... That sounds familiar… Thanks, doc," Rachel replied, and went over to Frank, who was waiting for her by the car.  
  
"Well?" he asked impatiently.  
  
"Ah, nothing more than what we expected. Girl in her twenties, no ID. Looks like your average suicide, but she could also've been thrown off the cliff." Rachel said, repeating what Dr. Morgan had told her. "The autopsy may reveal more."  
  
"But that's it?" Frank sighed. It wasn't much to go on.  
  
"No, actually, they found this ballpoint in her pocket." She handed him the plastic bag. "Jackson Enterprises," she said as he studied it. "The name ring a bell?"  
  
"Jackson..." Frank mumbled. "Isn't that the cargo firm at the harbour?"  
  
"That's exactly what it is," Rachel told him.  
  
"Now why would a young girl walk around with ballpoints from a cargo firm? An employee, maybe?" Frank wondered.  
  
"Let's find out, shall we?" Rachel suggested and got in the car.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Rachel pulled over and cut the engine outside the huge gate of Jackson Enterprises. The sun was just beginning to set in the background, and behind the garden sprinklers, the detectives could see large trucks loading cargo, and men in blue overalls going between pallets. Frank loosened his seat belt and got out of the car, followed by Rachel. "Watch out," she warned him, when the gate suddenly opened, and a truck drove out. They glanced at each other quickly, then Rachel raised a finger to her lips. Frank nodded, and before the gates shut again, they were inside. "Which way?" Rachel asked, looking around at the many warehouses and buildings.  
  
Frank shrugged his shoulders, and said: "Dunno. It was your idea."  
  
"What? As if you weren't thinking it!" she hissed under her breath.  
  
"I wasn't, honest," Frank muttered. "You always get me into trouble."  
  
"Frank-" Rachel began in exasperation before they were suddenly interrupted.  
  
"Can I help you with anything?" a loud voice behind them suddenly said. They spun around to face a heavyset man in his early forties. He was tall and burly with a shaggy beard, and looked like he was ready to eat somebody at any time. Not your most friendly-looking bloke, Rachel surmised as she appraised the man. "You do realize you have no right to be in this area, that it's restricted to the general public?"  
  
"Detectives Holloway and Goldstein, Sydney Water Police," Frank explained while flashing his badge. "We do realize and actually, maybe you *could* help us with something. We're looking for the owner, Terry Jackson?"  
  
"I'm him," growled the man. "What do you want?"  
  
"Ah, well, you see, we're investigating a possible murder," Frank said, sending Rachel a quick glance. "And we were wondering if you know this girl?" He withdrew a crime scene polaroid of the dead girl from his pocket and held it up in front of Jackson.  
  
"Never seen her before," Jackson snubbed him, barely taking a peek at the picture.  
  
Frank rolled his eyes at Rachel, and turned to Jackson again. "You sure? Now, maybe you should take another look, eh?" He urged the big man to take the picture and study it properly. "Well?" he asked eagerly.  
  
"Yeah, I know her," Jackson finally answered. "She was a secretary here before she quit to go back to uni." He gave the picture back to Frank.  
  
"What's her name?" Rachel urged.  
  
"Dunno."  
  
"Really, sir," she insisted. "We need to know for our files. So far, nobody else can identify her. Are you sure you can't remember?"  
  
The man looked at her appraisingly and she stared back at him, daring an answer. He considered it for a moment, then replied, "Kate Haywood."  
  
"Do you know of any relatives we can contact?"  
  
"No, I don't." Jackson was starting to look annoyed. "Look, I'm a very busy man, so if that's all..."  
  
"Yeah, sure. But first, do you have Ms. Haywood's address?" Frank asked.  
  
"No." The huge man was clearly anxious to get rid of the detectives. "I haven't got time for this, I've got work to do," he said firmly while turning away from them.  
  
"Yeah, we're going," Rachel confirmed. "Thank you for your help, sir," she added, but Jackson was already on his way to one of the buildings.  
  
"Nice guy," Frank remarked.  
  
"Mm," Rachel agreed as they started walking towards the gate. She shrugged. "At least we've got a name, though. And we can always come back later."  
  
They had nearly reached the gate when a young man came over to them. He stretched his hand out to Rachel, and said: "I see you've met the boss. Don't worry about him, he's just not really used to people." He noticed the confused looks on the detectives' faces, and let out a little laugh.  
  
"I'm Steve Bennett, truck driver. Look, I don't wanna bother you, I just thought I should apologize for the boss."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Rachel smiled. "We're Detectives Goldstein and Holloway." She nodded towards Frank, who smiled politely.  
  
"Detectives? Has something happened?" Bennett asked, concerned.  
  
Rachel looked over to Frank who gave her a "go ahead" nod, and she explained why they were there. As she spoke, Bennett's face went pale. "Kate's dead?" he finally said. "I can't believe it." He shook his head slowly, and had to steady himself on a pallet.  
  
"Did you know her?" Rachel asked.  
  
"Yes... Yes, I did. Eh... We were going out for a while."  
  
"You were?" Frank sent Rachel a surprised look.  
  
"Yes..." Bennett's eyes went blank, and he paused for a few seconds before continuing. "We really loved each other. Then we had this stupid fight, and she broke up with me. It was my fault, and I haven't seen her since."  
  
Rachel hesitated a little before asking: "When was this?"  
  
"About a week ago," Bennett told her. "She wanted to quit her job here and go to Melbourne to study at the University, and she wanted me to come with her. I didn't want to leave here, so she left me instead." He sighed. "And now she's dead… I can't believe anyone wanted to kill her." Actually, he knew exactly who would have killed her, but he didn't dare tell them. It was too dangerous. Better that he kept it a secret for now.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Rachel sympathised.  
  
He looked at her and nodded quietly. Frank cut through the silence. "How long were you together?"  
  
"Almost two years."  
  
"Ah, do you know of anyone we can contact, friends, relatives?" Rachel asked.  
  
"Yeah, she's got a sister, Karen Haywood. Her parents are dead."  
  
"Do you have Karen's address?"  
  
"16 Glasson Street."  
  
"All right. Thank you sir, you've been very helpful." Rachel smiled gently at him.  
  
"No worries." Bennett shook Rachel's hand again and went back to his work.  
  
"Poor guy," Rachel said as she and Frank walked back to the car.  
  
"Yeah. Can't be easy to lose your girlfriend like that. Can I have the car keys?" He had to ask, even though he knew it was useless.  
  
Rachel just gave him a Look.  
  
Right. Frank raised his hands helplessly and got in the car.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was quiet in the car after the visit at Karen Haywood's. She had become hysterical when Rachel informed her of the death of her little sister, and proved impossible to calm down. Eventually she had fallen asleep, and Frank and Rachel had to leave without getting any answers to the questions they had. They had left their cards back at the house, but they doubted she would call them. When they got back to the station, they found Helen waiting behind Frank's desk in their office. "Hey sweetie, what are you still doing here?" Frank teased her as he made her give up his chair.  
  
Helen chose to ignore the comment, and turned to Rachel. "How did it go?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Well, we've ID'ed the girl as one Kate Haywood," Rachel replied, and recounted their meetings with Jackson, Bennett and Karen Haywood. "We'll have to go back to Karen's tomorrow, see if she's calmed down," Rachel finished.  
  
Helen nodded and headed for the door. "Oh, the autopsy report is on your desk." She pointed to Rachel's desk.  
  
"Already?" Rachel asked in surprise.  
  
"Mhm," she replied. "Very efficient."  
  
"I'll say," Rachel agreed. "Thanks Helen." As Helen left the room, she sat down behind her desk and picked up the report.  
  
"Anything interesting?" Frank asked after a while.  
  
"Yeah…" Rachel muttered. "Yeah, it says here that Kate didn't die of internal injuries, which would be really unusual after a fall like that, except for the strangle marks around her neck. I think they were hidden under her turtleneck shirt. It says her that she was almost definitely dead before she was tossed over. I'd have to agree with it."  
  
Frank nodded, "Sounds like that's what happened."  
  
"And that, my friend, means we're looking for a killer!" Rachel tossed the report over to Frank for him to look at it. "So, where do we start?" she asked after a few moments.  
  
Frank checked his watch. It was already a quarterpast ten. "I think we should go home and sleep on that one," Frank replied. "It's getting pretty late."  
  
"Yeah, I'm for that." Rachel collected her papers and locked her desk drawer. "Want a lift home?" she offered Frank on their way down the stairs to the front door.  
  
"No thanks, I think I'll walk," was Frank's answer.  
  
Rachel shrugged. "Suit yourself. Hey, Helen!" she called out.  
  
Helen, who was sitting behind the front desk, looked up. "Yes?"  
  
"Frank and I'll be heading home now. Can you tell Jeff that the report from the Tyler case is on my desk, if he wants it?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," Helen nodded.  
  
"Thanks, mate. See ya tomorrow!" Rachel waved at her as she left the station.  
  
"Bye," Helen called after her, before she went back to work. Another Friday evening shot to hell, she sighed. Never mind, there'd always be another.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When Rachel arrived at the station the next morning, she was met by Constable Tayler Johnson, who had some interesting news to tell. "Good morning, Rachel," she greeted her."There's been a phone call for you, a Karen Haywood," she said.  
  
"Really?" Rachel was surprised. She didn't think Karen would be able to tell them anything for a while yet. "What did she want?"  
  
"She asked if you could come and see her today, said she had some information about her sister?" Tayler looked puzzled.  
  
"She did?" Rachel paused for a second. "Have you seen Frank?"  
  
"He's in your office," Tayler pointed.  
  
"Thanks, Tayler," Rachel said as she ran up the stairs. "Hey Frank!" she exclaimed when she entered the office, and got a grunt in reply. She smiled.  
  
Frank gazed up at her. "And what puts us in such a jolly good mood today?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
"Ooh, sorry. I forgot that you can't reach the coffee pot from your desk," Rachel retorted. "Don't worry, though, I'll get it," she added, flicking the pot on. She had gotten used to Frank nearly always being a bit crappy in the mornings, and didn't let it affect her own good mood. "What's up with you?" she asked, although she knew the answer she was going to get. She had gotten it a hundred times before.  
  
"Nothin'. I just didn't get much sleep last night, OK?" Frank sounded annoyed.  
  
Yep, the usual. "Yeah, sure." Rachel changed the subject in the same breath. "Look, Karen Haywood's called, wanted to talk about Kate. I'm heading over there now, wanna come?"  
  
"Nah." Frank shook his head. "I'm gonna do a check on Jackson Enterprises. There's something weird about that place."  
  
"OK." Rachel shrugged her shoulders and headed for the door. "See ya later!"  
  
Frank looked down at his empty coffee cup as she left, then got up to pour his own cup.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Rachel was amazed at Karen's change from the day before. She was warm and welcoming, and with her long, brown hair falling gently down her shoulders, she looked as though yesterday had never happened. Rachel was invited in for tea and scones, and spent the first ten minutes talking about the weather, afraid that Karen might collapse again. But she looked pretty strong, and finally Rachel dared to ask: "You and Kate were very close, weren't you?"  
  
Karen sighed. "Yes, we were. She was only fourteen months younger than me, so we've always been best friends, not just sisters. Whenever Kate had problems, she would come to me. God, it seems so unreal that she's gone!" Karen's look became distant, as if she was looking at something far away.  
  
"I'm sorry," Rachel said quietly.  
  
The sound of her voice drew Karen's attention back at her, and she paused for a few seconds before she said: "Yeah. Yeah, me too."  
  
Rachel hesitated a little, wondered how Karen would take her next question. Then she decided just to go ahead with it. "You're aware that your sister was dead already before she fell off the cliff? Strangled," she added, when she noticed Karen's confused look.  
  
It was quiet for a moment, before Karen broke the silence. "So they found out." Her voice hardened. "I'm not surprised."  
  
Now it was Rachel's turn to look confused. "Who are 'they'?" she asked eagerly.  
  
"The guys at Jackson Enterprises. That's where Kate used to work," Karen explained.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know that," Rachel said impatiently. "Why would they want to kill Kate?" she wondered.  
  
"Because she knew what was going on there."  
  
"And that was?"  
  
"Smuggling," Karen replied lightly.  
  
"Smuggling?" Rachel echoed, discreetly retrieving a notepad from her bag.  
  
"Guns," Karen confirmed. She paused for a second, then continued: "Kate came to see me a few days ago. She was very upset, and had trouble speaking. I… I finally managed to calm her down enough for her to tell me what had happened. She had accidentally discovered several shotguns in a carton labeled "television set", and of course she was very puzzled about it. But she didn't want to ask anyone, because they might get mad at her for praying in things she had nothing to do with." Karen shrugged. "Just as well she didn't. But then she overheard a conversation between two of the workers, talking about when and where they were going to pick up the next delivery. They couldn't be talking about anything else but more guns."  
  
Rachel hadn't moved an inch while Karen was speaking, except to jot down notes. Now she took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. "What did Kate do about it?" she finally asked.  
  
"She was terrified by the thought of them finding out what she knew. She resigned immediately, and was going to leave Sydney, because she thought they were onto her. She just wanted to get out of there."  
  
"When did this happen?"  
  
Karen thought for a moment. "She came to me Monday afternoon, and quit the morning after."  
  
"And today's Saturday..." Rachel muttered, quickly putting the pieces together. The coroner had determined Kate's death to late Thursday night. The body had been found Friday afternoon. What had happened to Kate from Tuesday morning till Thursday night? "Was that the last time you saw Kate?" she finally asked.  
  
"No, she stayed here with me all Wednesday," Karen replied.  
  
"All day?" Rachel was a bit annoyed that Karen didn't tell her so straight away, but shook off that feeling. Karen couldn't tell what she wanted to know.  
  
Karen nodded. "Yes, she was going to leave, but there were no flights available, so she had to wait until Thursday morning."  
  
"So she was here, with you, till Thursday morning?" Rachel asked impatiently.  
  
"Yes," Karen replied. "I called her a taxi at about 8:30 in the morning, and then she left for the airport. I guess she never made it there..." Karen's voice trailed off.  
  
Rachel nodded quietly. The dates all seemed to fit. "And you think that someone from Jackson Enterprises killed Kate because she knew about their 'business'?" Rachel asked, just to make sure she had gotten it straight.  
  
"Yes!" Karen exclaimed. "Who else could have done it? No one would want to see Kate dead! Everyone loved her, she was..." Karen cut off her sentence.  
  
Rachel felt truly sorry for the woman sitting in front of her, but she really didn't have time to comfort her. "But how could they've found out that she knew?" The question was mostly for herself, but Karen must have thought it was for her.  
  
"I don't know," she said aggravated. "Maybe they got suspicious when she just quit the job like that, I don't know."  
  
That was an opportunity Rachel hadn't thought of. "She didn't give a reason?" she asked surprised.  
  
"No, she was too scared to think of anything else than to just get the hell out of there!" Karen's voice was starting to sound really angry. She bit her lip, and got up from her chair. "Do you want another cuppa?" she asked while she collected their cups.  
  
"Yeah, love one," Rachel said, wanting to give Karen some time to calm down.  
  
"I'll go make one," Karen said, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Rachel alone in the lounge room.  
  
Rachel sighed silently, and leant back in her chair. Her thoughts wandered in her head, and she suddenly felt exhausted. She glanced at her watch. It was only half past nine in the morning, but it could just as well have been in the evening. She sighed again, louder this time. This was going to be one long day, she could just feel it.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Frank's mood had improved a lot since that morning. He knew he had been rude to Rachel, but figured she had gotten used to it by now. Anyway, she had probably forgotten about it when she came back. Speaking of which, what on earth took her so long? She had been gone for nearly two hours, and Frank was starting to wonder. Besides, he was really anxious to tell Rachel what he had found out. Maybe he should try to call her on her mobile? No, she would just get mad if he interrupted something. But where was she? Just then, as if she had heard his thoughts, the door opened and Rachel walked in. Speak of the devil. "Hey gorgeous!" he grinned at her. "What took you so long?"  
  
"Karen had made scones and tea," Rachel replied with a smile, and continued: "Listen, Frank, Karen told me that..."  
  
"No, wait!" Frank interrupted her. "Let me tell you what I've got first, OK?"  
  
Rachel tried to look as she didn't care much, but her eyes were curious. "Sure. Go ahead."  
  
Frank kept quiet for a few seconds. He saw that Rachel was curious, and wanted to tease her a little. Finally he said: "You see, Rach, Jackson Enterprises aren't what they appear to be."  
  
"And what do they appear to be?"  
  
"They are running some pretty shady business," Frank continued, ignoring her question.  
  
"I know!" Rachel replied. "Apparently, they're using the cargo firm as a cover-up to hide their illegal import of shotguns." She glanced over at Frank, and wondered what else was new.  
  
Frank stared at her in disbelief. "Now how did *you* know *that*?" he finally asked, trying to look unaffected. How could she know? He fought a wave of disappointment that his big news wasn't so big after all.  
  
Rachel desperately tried to hide her grin from Frank. The expression on his face! Unforgettable. She cleared her throat and smiled innocently at him. "Oh, I have my sources, you know," she said lightly.  
  
Frank still couldn't believe it. She wasn't really suppose to know that until he told her! Oh, well, he was beaten. Again. And now she was sitting there laughing at him! Oh yes, she tried to hide it, but she was clearly amused by his reaction. Dammit! "So, what else did you find out?" he asked a bit miffed.  
  
Rachel was still smiling as she told Frank what Karen had told her. "And Karen is absolutely sure that someone from Jackson Enterprises killed her sister," she finished.  
  
Frank was still angry with himself for letting Rachel get the opportunity to laugh at him, but kept his professional cool. They had other things to worry about right now than one-upping each other. "Yeah, I'm telling ya, that Jackson was trying to hide something," he said after hearing Rachel's story.  
  
"Hmm..." Rachel mumbled. "But I don't think he killed her himself."  
  
"Why not? He could send you to hospital just by looking at you!" Frank objected.  
  
"Ah, intuition," she replied with a smile.  
  
Frank frowned. "Like, that female thing?"  
  
Rachel shook her head. "No, that's PMS," she explained patiently.  
  
"Oh."  
  
She grinned suddenly and rolled her eyes. "Forget it, Frank. I just had a feeling, that's all…"  
  
"I hate your feelings," he muttered. "They're always so damn right!" She grinned again and threw a wad of paper across the room that hit him square in the head. "Oi!" he protested and quickly grabbed a sheet of paper, scrunched it up and hurled it back at her.  
  
That meant war! Rachel quickly seized all the paper she could find and started pegging it at him with almost perfect aim. Dodging, he kept on firing them back. Rachel shrieked and dived under her desk, popping up only to fire more paper balls at him. Frank tookshelter behind the filing cabinet, pressed up against the wall. Both detectives were in hysterics by now and although they knew they were going to get busted for it, both refused to admit defeat. Rachel suddenly realized that she was quickly running out of paper, and started digging around in her desk drawers to see what else she could find that was convenient and serviceable. In delight, she recalled an old staple gun that had been sitting in her bottom drawer for months now, even though it fired extremely well. She and Frank had used to hold competitions to see who could fire staples the furthest – they'd gone across the room and out the window on occasions. Perfect! She took aim and started firing rapidly. Frank yelled out as he started getting hit by stapled. "Unfair advantage!" he protested, stepping out from behind the firing cabinet. The barrage continued, forcing him to take shelter behind his desk. "Put it down!"  
  
"Never!" she cried, relishing the power.  
  
"Rachel, put down the gun!" he cried melodramatically.  
  
"I said no!" she shouted back, tears of laughter streaming down her face. She continued to fire them at him and he continued to bat them away with a manila folder. He pegged a few more paper balls at her, harder this time, because she had an unfair advantage over him. "Ow!" she cried.  
  
"Put it down!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Rachel, you don't really want to do this," he insisted, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.  
  
"You obviously don't know me that well, Frank," she replied, grinning maliciously.  
  
"Ooh, that's getting personal," he said.  
  
"Damn straight," she replied with a wink.  
  
"Put it down, Rachel," he said. "You can still do it, this isn't the end."  
  
Rachel doubled over, laughing, because he sounded just like a real negotiator. Frank took the opportunity to tackle her and seize the staple gun. She fought him for it and soon they were rolling around on the floor in helpless laughter.  
  
"Ahem." A loud voice interrupted their laughter, and when they didn't respond, it spoke again. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jeff Hawker was standing in the doorway, looking as intimidating as possible and trying not to laugh at the ridiculous scene in front of him. Helen was standing slightly behind him, trying valiantly to conceal her laughter. She just wished she had a camera because they both looked so absurd. Rachel's hair was mussed and sticking out at bizarre angles, while her clothes were disheveled and falling off her. Her shirt had lost two buttons, and she'd somehow managed to rip the corner of her sleeve on something. Frank looked absolutely no better – his clothes were unruly at the best of times and right now they were atrocious. His shirt hung off him like a rag and his tie was pulled halfway down his chest in a tight knot that would take considerable effort to undo. His shirt was loose and also missing several buttons. Upon seeing their faces, Helen had to conceal a whole new surge of laughter. They were lying on the floor, frozen in shock and still partially entangled in one another. And they looked guilty as hell. Both of their faces were red from laughing, and Rachel's makeup was smudged and tear-stained. Meanwhile, the office was an even bigger mess, with balls and sheets of paper strewn all around – over the furniture, on the floor, and spread even further than was usual (specifically because it transcended the boundaries of Frank's desk and extended to Rachel's usually immaculate one). There were also copious amounts of silver staples sticking out of the carpet – Helen didn't even *want* to know what that was all about. She made eye contact with Rachel, who groaned softly. Helen winked, then excused herself. She honestly couldn't contain her laughter any more.  
  
Meanwhile, Jeff just stared at his detectives in disbelief. Rachel and Frank glanced at each other, rapidly blushing, and disentangled themselves. They both began hurriedly tidying and grooming themselves, not only feeling incredibly embarrassed, but neither sure of their boss' reaction.  
  
Jeff surveyed the scene one last time, then glared at both his detectives and said sharply, "I want to see you both in my office in exactly fifteen minutes. You'd better have an explanation for this." Then he turned on his heel and marched out of the office.  
  
Rachel and Frank stared at each other.  
  
"Oh, shit," he muttered softly.  
  
"No kidding," she agreed. He looked up at her again, and she resisted the urge to giggle. Now was definitely not the time.  
  
"I think I won," he told her smugly.  
  
"What? No way!" she cried. "I definitely won."  
  
"Yeah, right – you pulled a gun on me!"  
  
"A *stapler* gun," she pointed out. "So?"  
  
"So, how unfair was that?!"  
  
"I don't think it was unfair," Rachel grinned. "But you know, you really ought to sign up for a negotiator's course – you're really very good, you know…"  
  
"Shut up," he replied.  
  
"No really," she insisted. "I was very nearly persuaded by your convincing… sense of… melodrama…" Frank punched her lightly and she protested. "Ow!"  
  
"Serves you right for pulling a gun on me," he said. "And we can talk about this later, but right now-"  
  
Rachel groaned loudly, and collapsed back on the floor. "We have to talk to Hawker."  
  
"Yep. How're we gonna explain our way out of this one?" Frank asked, hoping that she'd have the answer.  
  
Rachel was silent for a moment, racking her brains to come up with a good excuse. "Um… Temporary insanity?" she suggested.  
  
Frank sighed. "It's probably the best we're gonna get," he agreed.  
  
"Severe aggravation, most conceivably the result of stress," she continued. "But then again, he could always get us on unlawful assault, assaulting a police officer, goods in custody-"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Oops, no, that's just mine," she replied, taking a chocolate bar out of her pocket. "Hey! It's all squished! Way to go, partner," she said sarcastically, opening it gingerly. The melted chocolate oozed over her hands and she lifted it up to lick it off. As she did so, Frank grabbed the chocolate bar off her and took a huge bite.  
  
He grinned at her with a mouthful of chocolate. "Lack of repentance," he added.  
  
She grinned and took a bite of the chocolate bar… Mm… "I'd better go get tidied up," she told him. "You should, too, for that matter. Jeff isn't going to be impressed with us as it is."  
  
"Yeah, you're right," he said. Rachel raised her eyebrows, and he ignored her. "Don't be long."  
  
"Yes, dear," she replied, dragging herself off in the direction of bathroom.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Thirteen minutes later, Frank and Rachel stood outside Hawker's office, both looking considerably better than they had during their last confrontation with their boss. Rachel knocked sharply, then entered. "Jeff?" Jeff looked up from his computer and analysed them carefully.  
  
"Rachel. Frank. Please have a seat, this won't take long."  
  
thought Rachel,   
  
Frank groaned silently.  he thought,   
  
They both sat down carefully and stared at Hawker. He shrugged. "Quite frankly, I have no idea what to say," he began. "Do either of you have an explanation for your state earlier on?"  
  
Rachel and Frank exchanged a helpless glance. "Not really, Jeff," Rachel said.  
  
"What about you, Frank?" Jeff asked.  
  
Frank shrugged. "Ah, I really can't say," he said. "Although I can quite distinctly recall that it was my fault – serious aggravation, I think. Not to mention-"  
  
"The fact that I instigated the paper fight," Rachel hastened to add. "And that I was the one who had the stapler, not Frank, b-"  
  
"But I fully deserved it," Frank said, glaring at her. He wished she'd just shut up and let him take the rap for this. God knew it was less skin off his nose. "And I did nothing to discourage the situation, sir, in fact, I would say that this whole thing was entirely-"  
  
"-my fault," Rachel interrupted. "And it wouldn't be fair to let-"  
  
"-Rachel, here, take the blame for it. Look Jeff, I-"  
  
"Shut up!" Jeff slammed his hands down on the table and they both jumped visibly. "Now, I don't particularly care about what happened, although it's very sweet of you to be covering for each other. I don't expect I would believe the true story anyway. I just want you both to know that I am *not* impressed, and that as senior-ranking officers with the Australian Police Service, your behaviour was highly unprofessional and I just thank God that no one else happened to witness it. Furthermore-" he cut off Rachel's comment with a wave of his hand. "I am informing you that I will let this slide. Just this once. If it ever happens again, I will be pursuing further action. Are we clear on this?"  
  
"Yes," they muttered.  
  
"That's all.  
  
"But Jeff-" Rachel protested.  
  
"I said, that's all! You might want to talk to Blakemore about this incident – perhaps bribe her to keep her mouth shut for a while."  
  
"Good idea, sir," Frank said quickly and dragged his partner out of the office. "Thanks," he called over his shoulder.  
  
Once outside, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"  
  
"What?" She glared at him, pushing his hands away. "I wanted to explain-"  
  
"Explain?" he repeated. "There was nothing to explain!"  
  
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" she cried. "Geez, settle down. We got out of it, Jeff's not mad and all we need to do is talk to Helen…" Looking at Frank's face, she knew it mirrored her own. Talking to Helen might be even worse than confronting Jeff - at least Helen was under no professional obligation not to laugh – Rachel knew that they might never hear the end of this. She shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, all right. But maybe we could do it after lunch? Dinner?" She hesitated, then added, "Tomorrow, perhaps?"  
  
Frank nodded in agreement. "Good plan. But for now – we do have a case we're meant to be working on. One in particular," he reminded her. "And the notes for this said case are strewn around our office – God knows where they are now…"  
  
Rachel winced. "We'd better go clean up, then get onto it," she said.  
  
Frank nodded and they headed back to their office to retrieve their notes and files.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
An hour later, they were back at Jackson Enterprises. Not bothering to sneak in this time, they caught Terry Jackson in the parking lot on the way to his car. He tried to snub them, but they caught up quickly.  
  
"Mr. Jackson?" Rachel said. "We need to have a word with you."  
  
"What about?" he growled. "Can't you see I'm busy? Very important lunch date."  
  
"Oh, we won't keep you long," Frank persuaded. "We just need to go over some stuff with you, but if you're busy, maybe you could come down to the station later and we'll have a chat." His tone made the suggestion non-negotiable. Terry didn't get it.  
  
"I told you I'm busy," he said, glaring at them. "I've got a job to do, I don't have time for this."  
  
"We realize that, sir," Rachel replied. "But we also have a job to do, and currently, it involves you. I'm sure you could find some time for us in your busy schedule…" She looked up at him expectantly.  
  
Suck, suck, suck, Frank thought. She was so good at persuading people – it helped to have a partner like her, and that was only part of the reason. But her attitude had obviously helped, because Terry visibly softened. "Orright," he agreed reluctantly. He made a pretentious show of checking his agenda, then looked up and told them, "Seven o'clock, I should be free." Seven o'clock? Frank thought in exasperation. It was Saturday night, for crying out loud – didn't the guy have a life? And he and Rachel were already working overtime on their weekend, how fair was that? He was about to negotiate when his partner agreed.  
  
"That sounds great," she said, handing him her card. "If you have any questions, you can reach me on either of these numbers. Otherwise, we'll see you tonight."  
  
"It's a date," Frank muttered sarcastically. Rachel shot him a dirty look, and he shut up pronto. Thanking the man for his time, they were soon heading out of the building. Terry watched them until they went around the corner, then got in his car and drove off. He was worried – the operation was under enough pressure without having to deal with a couple of nosy cops snooping around. Now was not the time, and he hadn't been lying when he'd told them he was busy. Still, Terry supposed that the missus could wait another night to see him – there were larger things at stake here than his marriage.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
As soon as they were around the corner, Frank grabbed Rachel's arm and dragged her into an empty stairwell. At first, she thought he was pissed off because she'd ruined his Saturday night, but then she realized it was because there was a door one flight up that was slightly ajar. She nodded silently and they snuck up the stairs, then into the building. Once inside, they looked at each other.  
  
"Now what?" Rachel asked in exasperation. "Do we even know what we're looking for here?"  
  
"Not a clue," Frank replied.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "We could be interviewing Karen again, right now," she pointed out. "Trying to compile a list of suspects and everything, but nooo… We do it your way, and end up sneaking around a building that for all we know, is completely us-"  
  
"Hey, I thought it was a good idea," Frank interrupted. "Sure, we don't know what we're looking for, but at least we have this perfect opportunity to watch the cargo loading from a distance without looking suspicious, and try to figure out who's behind all of this smuggling. And furthermore," he continued, "if we see anything suspicious we can always call for backup."  
  
She sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," she said. "I mean, we can bust the smuggling ring and maybe that'll help solve Kate's murder. And obviously, Terry's gotta have something to do with it – I'm sure we'll know more by this evening."  
  
Frank nodded. "Atta girl," he muttered, and she rolled her eyes again. Before she could retort, he continued. "All we need to do is a little observation, maybe get into his office if we can find it, have a look around-"  
  
"What about security?" she demanded.  
  
"We'll get around it," he replied cockily. "Look, we can dodge the security guards and I seriously don't think that this place is gonna have that much electronic surveillance, I mean, look at it!" He gestured to the building and Rachel nodded, seeing his point. She was out of arguments. "C'mon!" Before she could even attempt another protest, he was dragging her around the corner.  
  
"Let go of me!" she hissed.  
  
"Check this out!" Frank replied, letting go and indicating to the corridor.  
  
"Oh no, that's just too easy…" Rachel muttered. They were suddenly standing very proximal to a door that stated =Terence Jackson=. "There's gotta be a catch here, Frank, I wouldn't-"  
  
"There is no catch," a voice suddenly interrupted. The detectives spun around to face Karen Haywood. She was pointing a gun at them both, slightly more towards Frank than Rachel, but if she fired, they both knew either one of them would be injured. She was staring fiercely at them, and her grip on the gun never wavered. Karen continued, "Except that I'm going to have to kill you now, and seeing as everybody's outside, waiting for the shipment to arrive, nobody will even notice." No wonder it had been so quiet – the shipment was arriving today. All the workers would be down at the docks, ready to start unloading it and making sure that nothing went wrong. Of course nothing would go wrong, Karen was making sure of it. How could they have not noticed? Rachel thought furiously. How could they have missed that? She took a slow breath and met Karen's gaze.  
  
Was this a bad sign? Frank glanced uneasily at his partner and was reassured by her stony expression and penetrating eyes, slowly reading Karen's face for any sign of weakness. She looked like the situation was at least partially under her control. Frank wanted to believe that it was. "Karen, let's talk about this," Rachel suggested.  
  
Karen shook her head. "I don't think so, Detective."  
  
"Can we at least know why you're going to kill us?" she persisted.  
  
Karen smiled bitterly. "Why? Is it my civil duty?"  
  
"Actually," Frank pointed out. "It would be your civil duty not to kill us."  
  
She smiled again. "Shut up."  
  
"Karen…"  
  
"You too," she glared at Rachel. "Take off your guns."  
  
"Now, really, Karen," Frank began.  
  
"TAKE THEM OFF!" she screamed. The detectives removed their guns, and placed them side by side on the floor of the corridor. Karen nodded. "Now we're going for a walk. WALK!" she commanded, indicating which way. They moved down the hallway, the detectives in front and Karen following closely behind, the gun trained on their back. Rachel glanced sideways at her partner, and he looked back at her, careful not to betray any concern for their wellbeing. Aside from that fact that they were unarmed and that nobody knew where they were, they had every advantage. Which wasn't saying much.  
  
Karen herded them into a small office at the end of the hallway. Looking out the small window, they could see people milling around in the distance, obviously prepared and waiting for something. They all knew what. She glanced out the window, checking to make sure they would still be alone – or at least, relatively so – in the building. She locked the door, never moving her eyes from them. Not giving an inch, lest they should take a mile and run with it.  
  
"So, you want to know why," she stated. They nodded, backed up against the wall. The window was behind and over their heads, and in front of them stood Karen, resting against the far wall. The office was tiny and cluttered, and could be crossed in less than three steps. Rachel and Frank edged away from each other, slowly moving into each of the corners. An attack would be easier from different directions, although Rachel was fairly confident she could talk their way out of this – she was, after all, a negotiator. But the tension in the air was thick and tense, and the situation could go either way. "I loved him," she murmured softly. "And she took him from me, and she used him, and he was never the same again… He was so, so *vibrant*, so much fun to be around," she murmured. "Until *she* got to him."  
  
"Who are you talking about, Karen?" Rachel asked softly. "Kate and Steve?"  
  
"No, Kate and Terry Jackson," she glared back. "Of course Kate and Steve. We were engaged to be married, you know – Steve and I. Then he started seeing Kate, only I didn't find out about it for about, oh, a year." The bitterness was apparent in her voice, and Rachel could feel the raw pain radiating out of the young woman. "She told me... she told me… on my birthday…" Frank's expression softened, that must have hurt. "And she was my own sister, y'know, not like some bitch I didn't even know. My own sister!"  
  
Karen suddenly stopped talking, catching herself. She glared at them again, her stony expression back in place. The barrier against the emotional torrents was up again, and cemented in place. "I killed her," she confessed coldly. "We had a fight, and I strangled her. Then I drove her body up to Hanson's Cliff, and threw her off. I know, I know, you weren't supposed to believe me. But you weren't supposed to figure it out, either."  
  
Frank and Rachel exchanged glances. They hadn't figured it out, as a matter of fact. Not yet.  
  
She continued coolly. "I expected an investigation. I didn't expect your damn compassion!" She glared accusingly at Rachel. "I didn't expect you to… to… but you did… and then you started poking around, asking your damn questions! You should've left it alone. A suicide."  
  
"But why did you tell me about the gun smuggling?" Rachel asked calmly. "Aren't you in on that deal?"  
  
"Of course I'm not!" Karen told her sharply. "I'm not involved in those things. Steve told me about it. And I figured it would be a suitable punishment for him." She smiled viciously.  
  
"What, us sending him to jail?" Frank looked curiously at her.  
  
"Yeah," she nodded. "Only now I'll have to find someone else to nail him and those other creeps, since you won't be around to do so." She tightened her grip on the trigger, and pointed the gun straight at Rachel. "Nice to have known you, Detective," she said. "Thanks for your support. Pity I can't return it."  
  
Suddenly, Rachel's phone went off. She jumped, and reached for it slowly. Karen watched her like a hawk and Frank used the diversion to his advantage. Rapidly, he slipped around the side of the room and before Karen could blink, he was holding her own gun on her and threatening to use it. The woman was shouting into the telephone and the man was screaming at her, waving the gun like a lunatic and pressing her hands together behind her back. Fleetingly, she felt something hard pressing into the back of her neck, then it was gone. She couldn't move and suddenly her wrists were bound together in cold metal handcuffs. Handcuffs! She struggled and writhed against them, hearing only the man's voice now, telling her that she was under arrest for the murder of… Then he was shouting at her again.  
  
"…Do you understand? Karen! Answer me!" Frank shouted, trying to get the words though her head. Rachel grabbed her arm and they marched out of the corridor, Karen still struggling. She swore and Frank cupped his ear. "What was that? You tryin' to tell us something?"  
  
"Bitch!" she spat. Rachel glared at her coldly. "I thought you cared! You cared, I thought you'd understand!"  
  
"What, that you killed your own sister because you were having an affair with her boyfriend? Yeah, I understand," Rachel replied. They turned the corner and headed out the fire escape, the same way they'd entered the building. "I understand you'll be spending a long time in jail over this one, and you won't just get off with a slap on the wrists. I understand that you're life's royally screwed and you'll have to live with this for the rest of your life. I understand, Karen, really I do."  
  
Outside the building, they made a beeline towards the car.  
  
It was over.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Good job, you two," Helen told them. The interview was over and Karen had confessed to everything. It hadn't taken much effort to get her talking again, and both detectives had no doubt that she would be convicted on a count of murder. In addition to that, their backup had arrived in time to halt the shipment of illegal weapons and arrest all present. Charges were pending and the case was essentially closed. They'd done a good job, even earning commendation from Hawker. It had all wrapped up quite nicely, for once.  
  
Rachel nodded. "Thanks," she replied.  
  
"Don't suppose you two want to join me for a drink down at the pub?" she suggested, taking in Rachel's tired face and the fact that Frank was almost asleep at his desk. Any moment now, she feared that he'd start snoring and Jeff really wouldn't appreciate that. 'Emotionally worn' was the expression. Helen smiled sympathetically. "Drinks on me," she added lightly.  
  
Frank looked up quickly. "Count me in!" he said, suddenly looked wide awake.  
  
Rachel shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not?" she agreed.  
  
"Come on, can't you be a bit more enthusiastic?" Frank chided. "Here we are, having just solved a murder and getting free drinks on top of it, and you're sayin 'why not?'! Give us a smile at least!" He shook his head and she broke into a grin.  
  
"You and alcohol, Frank, it's a bit of a worry…" She rolled her eyes and stood up. Grabbing her bag she looked down at him. "Well?" she asked. "Get a move on, before she changes her mind!" She grinned at Helen as Frank beat them to the door, holding it open with gallant chivalry.  
  
"That's better," she nodded, smiling.  
  
"Much," he agreed. "Better than Friday night!" He ducked a swipe to the head, knowing full well that for once, his partner agreed with him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
THE END  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
Feedback very much appreciated! Addresses on top!  


   [1]: mailto:whatever@graffiti.net
   [2]: mailto:Camelot_001@hotmail.com



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